


The Space in Which We Travel

by ryukoishida



Series: Stars in Our Blood [3]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: F/F, Pilot!Otabek, engineer!Yuuko, gundam au, mechanic!Sara, pilot!Mila, pilot!Yuri
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-03
Updated: 2017-04-03
Packaged: 2018-10-14 11:35:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10535658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ryukoishida/pseuds/ryukoishida
Summary: Mila Babicheva, a talented and ruthless mobile suit pilot with a broken spirit, arrives at the Korishiro base on one of the hottest days recorded in Chryse. She falls in love with Sara Crispino, the assistant mechanic in charge of maintenance of her Gundam, exactly one year later.  [Gundam (Iron-Blooded Orphans ‘Verse) AU][Written for MilaSara Week | Day 4: Seasonal]





	

**Author's Note:**

> You don’t need Gundam knowledge to read this! And there are brief notes about the AU at the end of the fic.

**i. Summer, Post Disaster 323**

 

The news announces that today is the hottest day recorded in Chryse within the last 50 years, and Sara Crispino has no doubts about that.

 

“Yuuko, who are they?” she whispers, though there’s really no need because the group that she’s referring to is too far away to overhear their exchange.

 

Even from this distance, the assistant mechanic of Korishiro Corps can tell the group has been through some tough ordeals — and she doesn’t just assume it’s from the most recent combat with Korishiro, either. The waft of danger that emanates from the four youngsters is prominent in the way they stride across the training field with a haunting sort of fearlessness and absolute focus in their eyes that usually denote the length of time they’ve been thrown into meaningless turf wars and brawls over trading routes between mercenary groups and underground political factions run by adults who know nothing of compassion, their logic and morals purely dictated by greed.

 

“Survivors from the wreckage of one of Afanasiy’s ships,” Yuuko Nishigori, the head engineer of the company, looks up from the tablet she’s been holding, her hand held up to shield the cruel glare of the sun from her eyes.

 

“Isn’t Afanasiy like, one of the largest and baddest space crime empires out there?” Sara helps Yuuko with some of the heavier cargo by loading them onto the cart.

 

There are apparently valuable parts that the squad has picked up from one of the companies on Earth they deal closely with, and Sara can tell from her supervisor’s impatient finger-tapping against the backside of the tablet that Yuuko is extremely pleased by the quality and is excited to start playing with the new parts and designing better armor and weapon upgrades for the mobile suits they have.

 

“That’s the biggest understatement if I’ve ever heard one,” the other woman replies with a cheerless laugh. “Even just their name is enough to strike terror into smaller mercenary operations, and I’ve heard some bigshots from Gjallarhorn have been drawn to their side as well, so thanks to their connection with the government officials and vast network in the underworld, Afanasiy can basically do whatever the hell they want without any consequences.”

 

“They don’t look like bad folks though…” Sara muses once she’s finished with the cargo boxes, and she leans her chin on top of her forearms draped across the surface of the wooden container.

 

 If anything, their scarred skin, tattered clothing, sickly pallid and sallow cheeks, and disproportionately bony physique suggest that these youngsters have been abused and living in an impoverished environment for at least several years.

 

The small group remains huddled close together and putting some distance between themselves and the Korishiro members who have been asked to take them to see Korishiro’s leader, and it’s led by a woman with bright red hair who only seems to be a year or two older than the other three. 

 

 

“They’re probably just kids who got caught in the middle of the mess, lost or captured with nowhere to go and no home or family to return to,” Yuuko surmises in a resigned tone.

 

She may have been lucky enough to be born into a lower-middle class family that can at least support her through vocational school, but she knows that many people her age and those who are much, much younger aren’t that fortunate; they either starve on the streets or earn meager wages by working for mercenary groups or mining companies, and most of them don’t live long due to the hazardous nature of those occupations.

 

“Like most of us then,” Sara concludes, her crooked grin somewhat wry and her gaze closely following the group’s movement as they disappear into the main building of the Korishiro base. “Well I guess it’s a good thing that our star pilot enjoys rescuing strays.”

 

“Can’t say I blame Yuuri,” Yuuko shrugs with a fond smile, “god knows what would have happened to him if Viktor hadn’t come along to save him.”

 

Their conversation is forced to a stop as they hurriedly move all the cargo back to the hangar area and get started on their work for the day.

 

-

 

There aren’t many female staff in Korishiro, so the women have the luxury of having to only share a small living space in the housing unit with one roommate as opposed to having to live with four or five other people like the men do.

 

Sara’s last roommate had to leave and return to Earth due to a family emergency two months ago, so she’d been enjoying the rare indulgence of having the room all to herself for once for the last little while.

 

But that night, pulling her exhausted and grossly sweaty body back into her room after a day of working nonstop in the hangar where she’s assisted Yuuko with fixing Yuuri’s Saleos and Otabek’s Ulises since the two mobile suits have suffered some damages from their scuffle with Afanasiy, Sara finds herself staring wide-eyed at a red-haired stranger sitting stiffly on the empty bed.

 

“Uh, may I help you?” Sara asks, somewhat bewildered. She wants nothing more than to take a quick shower before crashing to bed, but there’s an attractive young woman in her room and she’s looking up at her through a curtain of red hair with quiet, piercing blue eyes, and yes Sara can feel her heartbeat speeding up at the unexpected eye contact, and no it’s not because the nameless stranger from Afanasiy looks even more beautiful up close, but more because the woman’s threatening aura is downright suffocating with only a few paces between them.

 

“I’m told that I’ll be staying in this room, so I presume you’re Sara Crispino?” When she stands up and starts to walk towards her, Sara has a mild desire to step back — to keep herself at a safe distance from whatever it is that makes her feel uneasy about this woman — but she stays rooted to the ground, amethyst irises struggling to maintain their eye contact without showing any fear.

 

When they’re about a step apart, the corner of the woman’s lips curls upward slightly; she’s seen through Sara’s bravado, it seems.

 

“And you are?” Sara keeps her voice steady, her gaze firmly fixed to the stranger’s face.

 

“Mila Babicheva,” she simply says, not offering a hand for Sara to shake or make any sort of similar greetings.

 

Sara’s fine with that, too.

 

“A pleasure,” Sara nods once, before shifting past Mila’s taller frame to get to her side of the room, where she proceeds to gather clean clothes. “If you’ll excuse me.”

 

Mila says nothing as she watches the dark-haired woman leave the room.

 

When Sara returns, Mila is already asleep, though how someone can sleep sitting with her back rod-straight against the wall, both arms wrapped around one knee and the other tucked neatly beneath her is beyond Sara’s comprehension.

 

She wonders if the woman is actually asleep but ultimately decides that she’s too tired to be this paranoid. With a murmured “g’night”, though Sara hasn’t intended for Mila to hear it anyway, Sara climbs into her own bed.

 

 

**ii. Autumn, Post Disaster 323**

 

It’s about three months since they met for the first time that Sara wakes up in the middle of the night to screaming.

 

She bolts up in bed, blinking blearily and black hair curling this way and that from her incessant tossing during the night, but as soon as she realizes what’s happening, she snaps on the desk lamp to her left and rolls out of her sheets, padding the few steps towards the other side of the room where Mila is twisting and turning in her bed, the screaming having become whimpering. Strands of red hair are plastered to her cheeks, and her brows are drawn into a deep frown as if she’s in pain. Sweat has stained her sheets and clinging to her skin.

 

This is not the first time that Sara has witnessed this, and that first time happened two nights after they’d started sharing the room had scared her half to death. Sara hadn’t known whether Mila was in actual pain or just suffering the afterimages of a vivid nightmare: her eyes were wide open with panic and terror, seemingly blind to her surroundings, and she was breathing so hard Sara thought she must have been hyperventilating.

 

They weren’t close then, the two barely having exchanged words, but Sara hated seeing her suffer like that — trapped within her own mind, filled with demons she was unable to fight back, haunted by the past that no one can reach through to save her.

 

“Don’t tell anyone about this,” Mila said afterwards, after drinking the entire glass of water that Sara had offered. She glanced over at Sara then, her voice dipping low with earnestness as she implored her, “Please.”

 

Sara only nodded, concerned but knew that Mila wouldn’t explain even if she tried to pry. She hadn’t earned the right yet.

 

“Mila, hey, it’s okay…” Sara crouches down beside the bed and whispers, one hand on Mila’s forearm and the other gently running through her hair. She keeps murmuring reassurances that she isn’t even sure Mila can hear, but at least the calm tone seems to help as Mila’s breathing gradually slows down to a normal rate, and the fright that etched deeply on her face is replaced by confusion, and when that, too, leaves and her eyes begin to focus as she slowly becomes aware of her surroundings once more, she sits up and pulls her arm away from Sara as if the other woman’s touch has burned her.

 

“You okay?” Sara asks softly.

 

“Yeah,” she runs shaky fingers through her sweat-soaked hair, and instantly winces at the sticky texture, “yeah, I’m fine.” She isn’t looking at Sara when she says it; instead, her gaze is fixed on a spot on the opposite wall, her lips tightening into a firm line — it’s a look of frustration, Sara thinks but isn’t sure if she should ask.

 

The mechanic pours out a glass of water and hands it to her without a word. Mila accepts it into both of her hands but doesn’t drink it like she usually does.

 

“I’m sorry about… that,” Mila gestures vaguely with one hand in the air, but they both know what she’s referring to: the shrieks, the nightmares, the fact that she won’t tell Sara more than necessary. “You must be annoyed as hell, having to wake up to my crazy screaming like this all the time.”

 

“Not annoyed, no,” Sara sits herself on the edge of Mila’s bed, her hands — roughened and covered in scars old and new — folded on her lap. “Just worried.”

 

“Why? What’s there to worry about? I have nightmares, that’s all — nothing worth fretting over,” Mila shrugs nonchalantly, head turned away when Sara’s glare becomes too much to bear.

 

“You say you’re fine every time, but it doesn’t sound convincing at all,” Sara lets out a sigh. She knows there are things that can’t be resolved in such a short period of time, but she wants to do all she can to help, and Mila is refusing to open a sliver of that door she keeps so tightly locked.

 

“It’s not my job to convince you. You can believe whatever you want,” Mila murmurs, her arms crossed on her chest.

 

“And we’re back to square one,” Sara concludes, her voice a little bleak.

 

It takes a long moment for Mila to break the silence, and her tone is uncharacteristically hesitant when the words leave her mouth, “I’m not used to this… having someone to listen to me, to worry about me. I’m usually doing all the worrying — especially when Yuratchka is involved, and believe me, it’s impossible to leave him to his own devices when all he wanted to do is to be in any sort of combats that Afanasiy engaged in.”

 

“Eager to get into a fight, huh? That sounds like Yuri all right,” Sara chuckles. Unlike Mila, who’s friendly enough that she’s beginning to make some acquaintances in the Korishiro family, and Guang Hong Ji and Leo de la Iglesia, who usually just stick to themselves, Yuri Plisetsky has established himself as a talented mobile suit pilot who easily overpowered most of Korishiro’s pilots but a hostile kid who swears too much and starts too many fights.

 

“Not having to put our lives on the line day in and day out, or watching out for anyone ready to stab you in the back to get promoted through the ranks, and having actual meals three times a day?” Mila is only scratching the surface of the problems many young members of Afanasiy have to face, “I don’t think any of us have ever dreamed of having a life like that. All of this is still so new to me, you know?”

 

“This?” Sara looks up with a confused frown.

 

“The way you guys run things here is very, very different from Afanasiy,” Mila laughs, though the sound doesn’t match the grim expression on her face as her mind recalls her past that she has left behind only a few months ago. “It’s difficult for me to adjust at first, but I think I’m slowly getting the hang of it.”

 

“I’m glad to hear that,” Sara gives her a small encouraging smile.

 

“And Sara?”

 

“Yeah?”

Mila begins to reach out an arm, hesitating for a second while Sara looks at her curiously, before she places her hand atop of Sara’s head and ruffles her hair in a gentle manner, “Thanks for watching out for me.”

 

And for the first time, Mila smiles at her — open, genuine — and Sara thinks maybe the pilot is slowly but surely opening the iron gate that guards her heart.

 

 

**iii. Winter, Post Disaster 323**

 

The difference between summer and winter on Mars is subtle.

 

The climate is still swelteringly warm and arid, and the only consolation for those who work outdoors is that the mornings and evenings are slightly cooler than when the sun is fully up in the sky.

 

Inside the cockpit, it’s not much of an improvement. The light cotton of her sweat-soaked tank-top adheres to her like a second layer of skin in the most uncomfortable of ways, and Mila makes no attempt to hide her irritation as she presses the buttons with practiced ease, and pushes the throttle lever, driving her Rodi forward with its maximum speed and sending red dust flying in its tracks.

 

“Come on, Altin! Hit me like you mean it!” Mila shouts through the LCS with a wild, wicked grin as she easily dodges the incoming attack from Otabek’s Ulises, one of the rare Gundam frames produced by Gjallarhorn during the Calamity War era centuries ago that Yuuko has refurbished with upgraded armour and weapons.

 

Holding the hammer chopper over the mobile suit’s head, Mila barely blocks a strike from Ulises’ sword, and the force is enough to knock her Rodi back a few steps

 

“Is the heat getting to you, too?” Mila makes out the low, scratchy voice of Otabek through her headset as she dives in for another attack, this time with her Vulcan gun — or what would have been her Vulcan gun if they were in a real battle — but for now, ammunitions have been replaced by paintballs.

 

“Nonsense! I’m fine!” Mila replies joyfully, ducking under Ulises’ sword swing and aims for the back, now fully exposed. Her grin turns sharper, blue eyes menacing, and she pulls the trigger — except…

 

The Rodi she’s piloting loses balance when Otabek’s Ulises unexpectedly lands a kick backwards, effectively catching the other mobile suit directly in the chest with its foot and sending the slightly smaller Rodi sprawling onto the ground.

 

“Should we head back in for lunch?” Otabek asks in the same relaxed tone from before, as if he hadn’t just been sparring with two highly-skilled pilots for almost an hour.

 

“Fucking finally!” Yuri gives a little cheer through LCS and starts to make for the hangar in his own Rodi. He has suffered a few spots of neon pink paint on his back — courtesy of Otabek. In contrast, the Ulises looks as clean as it has been this morning when they first started the session except for the specks of dust that stubbornly cling to the nooks and cracks of the mobile suit.

 

“You’ve become soft, Yura,” Mila teases, though she isn’t going to complain. Field training in this godforsaken heat is no joke; she doesn’t want to forfeit her life for something as trivial as dehydration.

 

“Shut up, old hag,” Yuri retorts with little ire in his insult.

 

“Love you, too,” Mila makes obnoxious kissy noises which causes both Yuri and Otabek to groan in unison.  

 

After a quick lunch in the dining hall, Mila finds her roommate hanging around the second level of one of the warehouses where the company keeps all their mobile suit units for repair and maintenance. The air is dank with engine exhaust and a sharp, familiar odor of fuel; the clanging of apparatuses as the mechanics tinker with the different units creates a dissonant symphony that’s strangely comforting.

 

It’s not that different from the air docks back in Afanasiy’s headquarters.

 

Sara is drinking a protein shake from a can; it doesn’t exactly have the most natural or best flavor, but it does the job when there’s no time for a meal break. She sits on the deck, legs dangling from the edge and arms draped across the rusted railing.

 

“Skipping lunch again?” Mila plops down beside her and drops a wrapped package on Sara’s lap.

 

Her face brightens up when she unwraps it to reveal a sandwich and some sort of fruit-flavored jello cup; she turns to her with a cheerful grin and nudges Mila with her shoulder, “You, my dear, are my favourite person in the entirety of Mars.”

 

She takes a bite of the sandwich, humming in delight even if the bread is a little tasteless and the lettuce is a bit stale and limp. She hasn’t had anything to eat since seven o’clock that morning, so Mila’s offering has been a godsend.

 

“You guys have been busy down here, huh?” Mila asks, her gaze sweeping across the hangar where mechanics are industriously taking off and putting on parts onto the mobile suits. The process is time-consuming and complicated, and they want to ensure that all components fit perfectly and securely together before the units are taken out into battles. Mila is an experienced pilot, but all the engineering elements of putting a mobile suit together escapes her, so she’s always intrigued by the process.

 

“Yuuko has been experimenting,” Sara explains after swallowing. “See those canons there?” She points to the far side of the wall, where several black-grey cylindrical-shaped objects are stacked neatly on stands.

 

“Yeah?”

 

“She wanted to see if she can install them onto Ulises,” Sara says with a mildly amused grin, “to add more firepower to it, she says.”

 

“And Otabek agreed to this?” Mila finds that extremely hard to believe.

 

“She half-begged and half-threatened him into letting her have her way,” Sara chuckles, and the sound of it is so pleasant that Mila can’t help but glance over at her. There are some crumbs stuck to the corner of her lips, and Mila reaches out absentmindedly to brush them away, the gesture surprisingly gentle.

 

Sara thinks nothing of it, merely mumbling a ‘thanks’ around a mouthful of food.

 

“Hey, can I ask you something?” Mila keeps her gaze straight ahead. The question has been surfacing in her mind more and more often lately, but she’s been wondering since she became aware of it the first day they met. Even she knows there are things that one shouldn’t pry into, however, so she’s kept her mouth shut all this time.

 

At the moment though, she feels like it’s the right time to ask, but she quickly amends, “I mean, if it’s too personal, you don’t have to answer.”

 

“I’m an open book,” Sara shrugs with an easy smile.

 

“That photo on your desk…”

 

“Ah… I guess I haven’t told you anything about my family,” Sara puts away the wrappers and digs around the paper sack for the jello cup.

 

“Is… Is it okay for me to ask?”

 

“There’s nothing much to it, really,” Sara dips her spoon in, her tone too neutral, “my parents passed away when I was still really young — about a few months after that photo was taken, that’s what Mickey said.” The pause is almost indiscernible, but Mila catches it regardless, the brief second Sara’s hand stills before she moves to put the spoonful of jelly into her mouth.

 

“Mickey?” Mila remembers the other child in that photo, colours faded with age, the border yellowing with stains.

 

“My twin brother, Michele,” Sara clarifies. “He was working multiple jobs to support the both of us, but one day, he simply… vanished. It wasn’t that big of a deal in the district we lived in: kids on the streets disappeared all the time, and the police didn’t bother looking into it. Chances were that they either got kidnapped and sold off as Human Debris, or other street urchins had gotten to them because they were equally desperate to survive.”

 

Mila understands that perfectly well. Back in Afanasiy, even though all the children were fed and had a roof over their heads, they had to go through days of brutal training and the Alaya-Vijnana transplant surgeries; countless died on the operation table and training fields. To prove their worth to simply live, those who endured past the training and the surgery went on to win battle after battle, never truly knowing what they were fighting for, only driven by the desire to survive yet another day.

 

For both women, it had been survival of the fittest.

 

“Do you think he’s still—” the question bursts out before Mila can stop herself, and she claps a hand over the lower half of her face, muffling her next words, “I’m sorry, that was definitely inappropriate.”

 

“It’s fine. I used to hope,” Sara puts down the unfinished jelly beside her and places her arms on the railing again, her eyes seeing something in the distant past, “but then I grew up, I became a part of this new family, and realized that rather than clinging onto the memory of someone who’s most likely passed away a long time ago, I should live for the people who care for me instead.”

 

“The people in Korishiro?”

 

Sara nods, and a hint of a smile appears on her lips when she turns to look at Mila, violet eyes gleaming with warmth, “Yuuko was the one who found me. If it wasn’t for her, I don’t think I’d be able to sit here and talk with you like this.”

 

“I guess I have them to thank for, too,” Mila murmurs, and she looks out into the semi-enclosed hangar. The doors are opening to allow a few pilots to take their mobile suits out into the field for the afternoon training session, and the light of the midday sun scatters into the facility, casting all the metal beings into absolute shadows and blinding radiance.

 

“Us,” Sara says, the syllable uttered so softly that Mila thinks she must have imagined it.

 

“Sorry?”

 

“You’re a part of us now, aren’t you?” Sara has grasped Mila’s slightly bigger hand into hers, and the other woman lowers her gaze to stare at their entwined fingers.

 

“Yeah,” Mila’s reply is a simple one, and her fingers tightened around Sara’s marginally.  

 

A simple life like this is all she can ever hope for.

 

 

**iv. Spring, Post Disaster 324**

 

“What the hell happened?”

 

As soon as the injured pilots are extracted from their mobile suits, they are immediately sent to the infirmary. Those with minor wounds are quickly tended to, but the few who have been severely injured are placed into the medical nanomachine tanks.

 

One of them is Mila Babicheva.

 

As soon as she’s completed her tasks at the air deck, Sara rushes to the infirmary. She stands next to the sarcophagus that holds Mila’s body submerged in blue liquid, in which nanomachines invisible to the naked eye are repairing the wounds. Her eyes are closed, pale, parched lips slightly parted, and the oxygen mask over her mouth is fogged from her weak, shallow breathing.

 

There doesn’t seem to be any major external wounds at least, but internal damage is more often deadlier.

 

“There was no way she could’ve lost against that Graze,” Yuri, who seems to have escaped any major harm, comments with gritted teeth, “he was slow and reckless and nowhere as good as Mila.”

 

“Yuri,” Otabek calls out his name in a warning tone, his steel-grey eyes pointedly flashing over to Sara, who is still staring down at Mila’s unconscious body in wide-eyed shock.

 

She recalls their last exchange before Mila set out for their mission. Sara was doing last minute check-ups on her mobile suit when Mila pulled her into the cockpit, which was already cramped with one passenger, so the mechanic was forced to straddle the pilot’s lap in the tight space.

 

Since the artificial gravity mechanism had been shut off to conserve the ship’s power, Mila had to hold Sara in place with her hands on the mechanic’s waist.

 

At least the tinted helmet did a great job concealing the heat on her cheeks at their sudden proximity.

 

“Be careful out there,” Sara told her with a forced smile, like so many times before — a silent mantra for her safe return. It’s always difficult, saying goodbye, never knowing if this would be the last time they got to do so.

 

“I’ve been thinking, Sara,” Mila knocked their helmets together in a dull thump, azure irises glimmering with intent behind the visor.

 

“What about?”

 

“That maybe we should—”

 

“Mila, come on, we got to get ready! Stella Veneris’ ship has spotted us and they’re sending out a bunch of idiots for us to kick their asses,” Yuri sounded ecstatic as he floated by them to get into his mobile suit, his mouth stretched into a wild grin.

 

“Underestimating the enemy will get you killed,” Otabek reprimanded quietly behind him, but the young pilot only scoffed.

 

“Never mind that,” Mila pouted, her arms lightly wrapping around Sara’s waist in a quick embrace before gently pushing her out of the cockpit with a playful wink. “Let’s continue this when I get back.”

 

Sara wakes up to the beeping and whirring of the medical nanomachine tanks and the stench of disinfectant that always makes the mechanic feel nauseous; it reminds her too much of those who couldn’t be saved. Most of the lights in the infirmary have been dimmed, so Mila’s pallid face is emphasized by the glowing blue lights inside the sarcophagus.

 

The medical officer on duty has told her that Mila is no longer in a life-threatening situation; all she requires is plenty of rest. So there shouldn’t be any reason for Sara to feel this way: the worry eating at her from inside, the dread of imagining Mila never opening her eyes or talking to her again, the few accidental touches they share, the unfinished “maybe” …

 

It’s when she notices the wetness on her cheeks, the heat pooling in her eyes, and the blurry image of Mila’s face swimming in her vision that Sara realizes two things all at once: she is crying for the first time since the loss of her brother, and she is in love with Mila Babicheva.

 

 

**v. Summer, Post Disaster 324**

 

There is no choice.

 

But Sara would like to simultaneously thank Viktor and strangle him when she has the chance to for persuading her and Mila to go along with his crazy plan.

 

Stella Veneris is advancing from the southern route planning to ambush Korishiro’s headquarters, situated in the outskirts of Chryse and defended by three narrow routes going in and out of the base; the paths are fortified by high cliffs of red earth on both sides, making it difficult for enemies to proceed in a swarm and creating extra time for Korishiro to send out extra mobile suits for defense.  

 

“Mila, darling, I know you’re very excited about piloting your Gundam for the first time, but can you please, for the love of God, slow the fuck down?” As if to deliberately disagree with the mechanic’s opinion regarding her piloting skills, the new pilot of Quattro Stagioni pushes the throttle lever even further, the momentum throwing Sara against Mila’s chest. She continues in a huff, “Unlike you, I have no seatbelts to strap me down and I don’t fancy flying out of the cockpit with your speed-driving today.”

 

“Don’t worry, I’ll keep you safe in my arms!” Mila laughs as she dodges around another boulder in her path.

 

“How much further until we reach the rendezvous point?” Sara decides that it’s useless to try to dissuade the red-headed pilot to slow down, so she watches the graphs and images on her tablet instead. All the details of the newly-equipped Stagioni are in Sara’s hand-held device, as she has been the one doing maintenance on the mobile suit since Korishiro collected it a few months ago.

 

Due to the fact that they have to leave base in a hurry to join the others, Viktor has asked Sara to go with Mila, though Sara doesn’t realize the implication of that order until she finds herself sitting on Mila’s lap facing one of the side monitors, her own legs danging off Mila’s thighs and her back occasionally brushing or bumping against Mila’s arm.

 

“About 3.4 kilometers,” Mila checks the map displayed on the upper part of the screen. “But more importantly, what did you install into the Stagioni?”

 

“Other than the standard two railguns and two long swords, we also installed two three-barreled missile launchers mounted on each shoulder, which you can assess from here,” Sara points to the corresponding controls on the console panel, and then flips her tablet around to display her next explanation, “each barrel has a capacity for three rounds, totaling eighteen shots. The missiles are smaller than the standard-sized ones, but are powerful enough to pierce through some of the toughest metals and explode once they’re burrowed into the targets for maximum damage.”

 

“Mmm, deadly,” Mila hums appreciatively, a sanguine disposition lighting up her bright blue eyes. The unit is heavier than the one she’s used to piloting, but the upgraded weaponry definitely makes up for it.

 

“The missiles will also auto-lock onto the targets, so essentially— Mila, are you listening to me?” In the middle of her speech, Sara finally notices that the pilot has been staring at her with a mixture of awe and jubilance, and the realization paints a hint of blush on her cheeks. “W-what?”

 

“I love it when you talk shop to me,” Mila nuzzles up against the mechanic, her hair tickling Sara’s cheeks.

 

“Focus, Mila,” Sara scolds but only half-heartedly because she’s partly distracted by the slight pain in her chest caused by how hard her heart is beating, the sweet scent of her skin, her hair permeated into the air and that’s all Sara can breathe in in the tight space of the cockpit.

 

“Only if you promise to go on a date with me after this,” Mila says this in a casual enough manner that it can be interpreted as a joke, but she’s been waiting to ask — ever since she got interrupted before their mission three months ago, and then she was severely injured, which took her almost an entire month to recover; after that, between planning tactics to combat Stella Veneris’ attack and field training, there just hasn’t been a good opportunity to bring it up again.

 

“Fine,” Sara rolls her eyes in exasperation, and has to hold on to Mila’s shoulders briefly when the Stagioni suddenly brakes to an abrupt stop, but she’s smiling nevertheless, the amethyst in her eyes flickering with quiet exuberance when she glances back at her with a vibrant grin, “but do try not to get us killed before that.”

 

“Roger that!” she cheers, placing a soft kiss on Sara’s temple and proceeds to position themselves in the location marked on the gridded map.

 

On their own, they used to fight purely for their survival, and they never thought to fight for any noble causes, but these days, the two women have found a new purpose: to protect the new-found family they’ve come to love, and to protect each other.

**Author's Note:**

> This was fun but very, very painful to write and as usual, I’ve given up towards the end there. I’m just glad that when I write this AU, none of them will actually die (unlike the ACTUAL IBO show LOL). 
> 
> **A few notes for the fic:**  
>  \- In part iv, the Graze that Yuri mentioned is piloted by Michele, who was kidnapped and sold to Stella Veneris as a child. The reason why Mila is injured is not because she’s not as good a pilot as Mickey, but because when she heard the last name Crispino, she immediately hesitated, suspecting that he’s Sara’s brother. None of them find out about this until much later.
> 
> \- Mila has two Alaya-Vijnana implants on her back. Sara has one, though she barely has to pilot any MS these days. 
> 
>  
> 
> **Definitions (within Iron-Blooded Orphans Universe):**
> 
>  
> 
> \- Gundam frames: A series of 72 mobile suit frames that were produced and developed by Gjallarhorn (an international peacekeeping force) during the Calamity War 300 years ago; the Ahab particles generated by the two Ahab Reactors within each suit give it a lot of powers, which can be burdensome on the pilot’s body since man and suit are connected through the Alaya-Vijnana system.
> 
> \- Alaya-Vijnana system: A man-machine interface implant that improves a pilot’s spatial skills and reactions while piloting a mobile suit. The surgery to get the implants is risky and many have died during the process. 
> 
> \- Mobile suits: A type of mobile weapon that is a humanoid combat vehicle. I.E. Giant robots that people can pilot even in space.


End file.
